


■ <:^c cc 



c c 



c c 






, cact 



c: c c 



^5 C 






it V- 

.v.<C. ' 



<. c;: 



:..C.CC 






tc c A^, 






< 0- CI ^IC. 

e V d fe C- ' 

c- << 



<C5:v C: : 









■ -x ■'i<<^^y''■- 



CSC <_ 

8^t 



CT'^'CCj-- < 
r^vc civ 






rex •««::. * '■>^'- 












: '.. <.'C. C7' c C> 

^ ox: C ' S» S 
cc. <:^<<VL' <cr <^' 

cy-c. ci-c: c:, cc 

' '■ o/cx <:.. cc 

■ .o.:r.,- <:r.- cc 

cc c? / «c^ cc 



IjLIBRARY OF CONGRESS J! 



Me^^Mq 



UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f! 



■&:it <:,fi-'^ 



<'C ■ 


c c 


d 


c 


■< c: 


c- c 


. -'C 


c 


^<.c 


<- c<: 


' .> d 


<c 


-c: 


c ■..<:.,' 


^'< 






<; c • 
c<x 


•C'- 


«: 

/-^ 


< d 




£ 


'C 

cc 



rY,rf--;cl,: 



CCi 



<';/ C ^ . 
C.'< c 



ccc 

etc - 









<cl <: 






' CI 












<:-:^ 



■( cC 

c cc 

c If 
c ' « 

f f <' 

- c ■-< 

V re 






2<S^C^ 5^ 

cc 'S^'V V "^ 
cf' '<^ ^Cl < ■- 



■XL <-:' -^ 

lO^ c 
c <:< < 



c c_ 

c < 

" c c 



c c: <:_ 









^ <: 


















c<c- 
viV c ■ 

r' cjC. -: 
ccc <-: 
ccc.< 

Cj <-, c < 

*s:cc c 












4^: 



<:;y.'^ ^ 

■ -d ■- ^•- 



<r> C 



^1 

<::ri 



d' c < 



,<:"<:L<"d-...,cc:: . 



^ d: ^c^ic.. ^ 









<:t <: d 

<^Ld .^ <r^*»r^ <^ 



~'d:5 



-<I£:^d 






d^ d 






c::c 'or •- 



c ^ 






■■•-«:■ - 
1 «:. 



dS C -d. 



% ||tcm0riiil 0f (iBbtoiirtr (!5bcrctl: 



A 



DISCOURSE 



PKEACIIED IN 



THE FIRST CHURCH, DORCHESTER, 



Sunday, Jan. 22, 18C5. 



By NATHANIEL HALL. 




BOSTON: 

WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 

245, Washington Street. 

308, Washington Street. 

1865. 



//■ 



e: -540 



Dorchester, Jan. 24, 1865. 
Rev. Nathaniel Hall. 

Dear Sih, — The undersigued, members of the First Parisli, 
respectfully request the publicatiou of j'our sermon, preached last 
Sunday morning, in commemoration of the Hon. Edward Everett; 
believing that it will be a fit and appropriate memorial of the superior 
character and invaluable labors of our late illustrious citizen, as a 
Christian gentleman and a true patriot. This town being the birth- 
place of the great departed statesman and orator, it would seem but 
just and proper that this noble tribute to his memory should be put in 
a more permanent form. 

THOMAS GROOM. 
DANIEL DENNY. 
JNO. H. ROBINSON. 
FRANKLIN KING. 
ELISIIA T. LORING. 
J. C. LINDSLEY. 
FRED. W. G. MAY. 
EBENEZER CLAPP. 



Dorchester, Jan. 25, 1865. 
Gentlemen, 

In deference to your judgment, I comply with your request, and 

place my sermon in your hands for publication. 

EespectfuUy, 

NATHL. HALL. 
To Thomas Groom, Daniel Denny, and others. 



SERMON. 



"For, behold, the Lord, the Lord of hosts, doth take away from 
Jerusalem and from Judah the stay and the staff, the honor- 
able MAN AND THE COUNSELLOR, AND THE ELOQUENT ORATOR." IsR. 

iii. 3. 

1 SHALL not soon forget the feelings with which I 
heard, on leaving my pulpit last Sunday morning, 
that Edward Everett was dead. The tidings, I con- 
fess — whether worthily so or not — were peculiarly 
depressing to me ; the day wore thenceforth a cloud, 
above whose shadows I could not rise. And since, 
throughout the week, the event has been almost con- 
tinually in mind, the commanding point of thought 
and reflection. I would speak of him here ; well 
assured that I am addressing those who have felt with 
me the shock of the event, and with whom it has 
also been the week's absorbing theme, — as where, 
indeed, has it not been? as, from point to point, the 
tidings have flown through the Great Republic that 
claimed him as its son ; claimed a common ownership 
in his fame, as it had enjoyed a common benefit from 
his labors. I feel that the departure of one of gifts 



and a career so remarkable, and who has occupied, 
and so honorably, such eminent posts in the i)ublic 
service, has claims upon the pulpit which it has no 
option but to attempt to meet. 

And there are considerations of a local nature 
which seem to demand, peculiarly, a mention of him 
here. Our town claims him as hers, in the fact of 
his birth within it ; our church as hers, in the ftict 
of his name's enrolment on its records. Within the 
present home of one of us he first saw the light. At 
the hands of my predecessor he received baptism, — 
brought hither for that purpose, as the Record shows, 
on the second day of his life. In this immediate 
neighborhood was passed his earlier boyhood. At 
our public schools began his mental training, — the 
training of that intellect which was to command, by 
the wealth of its acquisitions and the splendor of its 
eff"usions, the admiration of his generation, and of 
others beyond it ; that intellect — receptive rather 
than creative — which drew into itself, with such mar- 
vellous retention, the world's knowledges ; which 
roamed, with gleaming sickle, the fields of all its 
literatures ; which bore away from every mine of 
thought, by the election of a cultured taste and a 
native apprcciativeness, their choicest gems, — not to 
overlay, but to enrich and quicken, and become basis 
and inspiration of new forms of beauty and new utter- 
ances of wisdom. 



4Vs we think of the boy, — whom there are those 
among us that remember, Avith his fair face, and curly 
hair, and marked inteUigence ; as we go further back, 
and think of the babe, borne hither, from maternal 
arms, in blank unconsciousness ; and then think of the 
man, — scholar, orator, statesman, — these among 
the world's foremost ; as we think of that little brow, 
bared for that baptismal dew, and then wearing the 
wreath of a w^orld-accorded fame ; of those lips, 
knowing no language but the inarticulate plaint of 
physical unrest, and then holding crowds in breath- 
less silence by the magic of their speech ; as we think 
of the infant, in his cradle, and the man, in "Liberty's 
Cradle," lifting, with beaming intellect and glowing 
heart, his last public plea ; and then consider the 
insignificant space that separates these two condi- 
tions ; that for all this unfolding those few short 
years were a sufficing term ; that, moreover, all this is 
but basis and preparation for accelerated growth ; the 
showing of the first few morning hours of a day, 
whose sun, for ever ascending, finds never its zenith, 
— what impressiveness does the conception gain of 
the capabilities, the greatness, of the human soul, — 
the possibilities of its future, — the wonders of its 
destiny ! 

I shall attempt no studied eulogy of the eminent 
man departed, nor a portraiture, even in outline, of 
his remarkable career. My purpose is the far hum- 



6 

bier one, of presenting some of the points in which 
his memory claims our especial honor, in which his 
example has instruction and incentive for us. The 
air is full of eulogy of him : most of it, doubtless, 
spontaneous and heartfelt ; but much, as is always in 
like cases, labored and undiscriminating, — a rhetori- 
cal marshalling of unqualified superlatives, for whose 
truth they who use them have no data in their per- 
sonal knowledge, but only in the supposed public 
estimate. One can hardly help being offended at the 
looseness, for the most part, of the eulogium, at their 
decease, of distinguished men. Where indeed it is 
the heart's estimate, excess is pardonable, and more 
than pardonable. There is something beautiful in 
that obliviousness of the heart to deficiencies and 
defects, when the individual is no more ; that disposi- 
tion to see only the praiseworthy and the good ; to 
see the life in its leading purpose, and not in its infre- 
quent aberrations from it ; reversing thus the rule at 
other times, of allowing its aberrations to put from 
view its leading purpose. There is something beau- 
tiful in this, seen as an instinct of our being ; the 
verdict that throbs forth from the deeps of the emo- 
tional nature. We can pardon and honor the hearts 
partial estimate ; but not the attempt, deliberate and 
unimpassioned, to paint the life other than it was, 
confounding eternal distinctions. 

Certainly, few have lived among us, very few of 



eminent position, whose public eulogium was less 
likely to be discrepant from sober fact than is his 
whom we mourn. Few have lived among us — have 
lived anywhere — in the occupancy, through a long 
life, of such various and distinguished posts, setting 
him, all of them, in the public gaze ; clothing him 
with large authority and weighty trusts ; mingling 
him with conflicting interests and passions and preju- 
dices ; demanding of him an impartial judgment, an 
even-handed justice, a iu'm resoluteness, — demand- 
ing every high moral virtue, — few, I say, have so 
lived and so stood with record so nearly stainless, with 
repute so slightly qualified ; few, whose detractors 
have been so disposed, at the last, to regret their 
detraction ; whose honest censurers so willing to re- 
view the grounds of their censure, and soften it by 
all allowances consistent with historic truth ; whose 
enemies, if there were such, so ready to drop upon 
their bier the ready heart-blossom of a conciliated 
friendlmess. 

In considering more specifically that in the life we 
are contemplating which claims an especial honor, I 
would name, first, a fidelity to native gifts and en- 
dowments. These in him were rare ; if not among 
the highest, if not answering to what is meant by 
that vague term " genius," yet of marked and shining 
eminence. But the mere possession of great natural 
abilities has no valid claim for honor. Too often, 



indeed, it receives it. The world idolizes talent. It 
burns incense to genius. Nor is it a tendency wholly 
condemnable. A certain admiration in the contem- 
plation of high mental faculty and achievement is 
no less natural and legitimate than that which is in- 
spired by the wonderful and grand in nature. Still 
we may not forget, that not the mere possession of 
great original powers, but only a due cultivation and 
improvement of them, has title to an honoring regard. 
He of whom I speak presents in himself this title in 
a most eminent degree ; presents, through his whole 
life's career, if I know it aright, a signal example of 
studious and pains-taking and conscientious fidelity to 
faculty and gift, to that splendid dower which his 
genius was. Nature did much for him ; but he did 
very much, too, for himself. His powers were capital, 
with which he commerced, through every realm of 
learning, to their continual enlargement. He was the 
most eminent example, perhaps, in all the land, of a 
skilled intellect, of the results of mental training, of 
the thorough and accomplished scholar. Well w-ere 
it for our youth, if they would make him, in the 
respect named, a model for their imitation ; if, while 
they regard with admiration his remarkable powers, 
they would consider the sedulous culture, hardly less 
remarkable, which preceded and made possible their 
brilliant achievements. 

But while honor is due for the mere cultivation, in 



itself considered, of faculty and gift, much more is it 
for their exercise in behalf of high and worthy ends. 
Mr. Everett's career eminently demands of us this 
greater honor. It has been an almost unbroken term 
of devoted public service. Some of the dearest inter- 
ests of the community, some of the highest concern- 
ments of State, some of the noblest measures of 
philanthropy and patriotism, stand in incalculable 
indebtedness, not more to his persuasive oratory, than 
to his wealth and profoundness of acquisition, his 
habitual and conscientious thoroughness of investiga- 
tion, his patient and self-devoting industry. What 
various offices has he filled ! We might almost ask 
what important office has he not filled ! And with 
what distinguished ability ! What enthusiasms of 
sentiment have been aroused by his appeals ! What 
new and charmful interest imparted, by his presenta- 
tion and advocacy of them, to themes historical, bio- 
graphical, literary, political ; belonging to the domain 
of letters and of afi'airs ; addressed to men of thought 
and of action, to the scholar and the laborer ! No 
idler was he in this world-field ; no trifier with his 
great and shining powers. Amidst the thronging 
instances of perverted talents, of desecrated genius, 
he stands in glorious contrast, stands as grand incite- 
ment. In order to render due honor to this fact 
of his career, there is need that we appreciate the 

peculiar temptations which beset the possessors of 

2 



10 

brilliant and commanding gifts ; which beset him, 
there is reason to believe, in some of their forms, with 
peculiar force. His love of approval and applause 
was a marked tendency of his nature ; a love fostered 
and fed from early boyhood by largest measures of 
what it coveted. Few, probably, have lived more 
continually in an atmosphere of adulation. It could 
have been by no common strength that he rose above 
its snares and debilitations, and kept so greatly his 
manhood. And if not wholly, in certain instances, 
as some may think, let this which has been named, 
together with a natural conservatism, a constitutional 
timidity, a peculiar sensitiveness, and the influence of 
circumstances whose nature and force we mav not 
know, — let these temper the judgment they may not 
wholly reverse. His honor is not that of a reformer. 
His place is not in that martyr-line, shining through 
the mists of ages, and setting athrob the heart of gen- 
erations. He was not one to lead a "forlorn hope ; " 
to do lonely battle against popular wrongs and abuses; 
to confront the aroused passions and prejudices of a 
community. His nature had not the elements for 
this as others have. He was shrinkingly averse from 
contention and opposition. He was a man for hal- 
cyon days. The very style of his oratory was adapted 
to such. Less the language of bold invective than of 
winning persuasion his lips loved, his heart prompted. 
He was the barque, of wondrous perfectness and 



11 

grace, nor less of high utility ; passing, with costliest 
freight, from point to point of the shores it hugs, 
making each port and inlet glp.d by the beauty of its 
presence and the blessing of its gifts ; this, rather than 
the " man-of-war," ploughing, as if in joy, the stormy 
seas, and belching thunders on opposing foes. And 
yet who of us can ever forget, what American heart 
can ever regard but with admiration and gratitude, the 
heroic nobleness with which he threw himself into 
our holy struggle ; the efficient, priceless services he 
rendered the nation's cause ? It was a grand moral 
spectacle, before which all else in the past than that 
of which it was the fitting crown may well be for- 
got, — that voluntary coming forth from his retirement, 
which age, it may be supposed, had made desirable to 
him, and — with a strength and glow of intellect, an 
eloquence and force of utterance, unsurpassed in his 
palmiest days ; breaking away from party ties and 
associations ; heedless of whatever charges of incon- 
sistency with his political past might be preferred 
against him ; heedless of every thing but the perils of 
his struggling country — giving himself, mind and 
soul, in efforts for her salvation ; nor resting therefrom 
till he rested in death. Fortunate for his countrv, 
fortunate for him, that he lived to see these years 
of war ; lived to gather on them new and richer har- 
vests of renown ; to have twined for him, amidst their 
stormy sweep, wreaths of benediction outvying all 



V . 



12 



tributes of the past, — wreaths that shall hang peren- 
nial on his tomb. Fortunate life, — full of action, 
full of service, full of honor, full of varied and bril- 
liant and beneficent achievement ; closed before fac- 
ulty gave sign of wane, while its evening was wearing 
scarcely less than the splendors of its noon ; and 
crowned with a self-devoting patriotism, ay, and with 
a humanity, as beautiful, — giving the last plea of his 
eloquent lips for those, who, though their attitude 
had been that of foes, were in suffering and want ; 
renewing, in that last public act, the exercise, in its 
worthiest spirit, of his earliest calling ; and — making 
Faneuil Hall his church, and its rostrum his pulpit, 
and his text, " If thine enemy hunger, feed him " — 
preaching then and there, unconsciously but blessedly, 
his " farewell " to the world ; closing his course be- 
neath the sway and in the interests of that " charity" 
which is more than all knowledge, and all faith, and 
all gifts of intellect, and all deeds of valor. 

I must not fail to name, as among his claims to our 
honoring regard, the exemplariness and purity of his 
private life. There was, I believe, no stain upon it, 
no shadow, no charge, no suspicion. Evil tongues 
were silent before that. There was a beauty in his 
daily life, — say they who knew it best, — the beauty 
of gentleness, humility, kindness, a thoughtfulness of 
others' feelings, a readiness for all befriending service ; 
the beauty of an unassuming dignity, of an unaffected 



13 



simplicity, of a moderation Avhich knew no excess, 
of an integrity which knew no wavering. The uncor- 
rupt statesman, he was the uncorrupt and uncorrupti- 
ble man. If Washington, if the malign influences 
that lurk within the nation's capital, could not cor- 
rupt him, what could? And they could not. Honor 
to him who could come forth from that ordeal, after 
twelve years' subjection to it, with no smell of fire 
upon his garments ! Let his example plead with our 
public men for those virtues, public and private, whose 
absence no station, no rank, no talent can atone for ; 
while their presence is the adorning crown of all 
talent and rank and station ! 

Nor can I omit to name his habitually manifested 
respect for religion and its institutions. He never 
failed in his attendance upon their stated ministra- 
tions. No pressure of labors, no exigency of affairs, 
no need of recreation, no love of books, were enough 
to make Sunday to him other than a day for religious 
rest and public worship. Nor was the respect merely 
outward, given as gracious patronage of a useful insti- 
tution, — given on the miserable ground of "example's 
sake," as by the educated and distinguished it often 
is, — as if they did not need religion far more than 
religion needs them ; did not need it absolutely and 
peculiarly, — its guidance, its sanctions, its restraints. 
It was with him, too evidently to be doubted, a respect 
innate and heart-born, deepened by a sense of per- 



u 

sonal insufficiency and need. No one could see him 
in the House of God, and not be struck with his 
devout demeanor; his respectful attention, however 
humble the utterance, to the spoken word. 

Thus " the Lord hath taken away from {our) Jeru- 
salem and Judah the stay and the staff, the honorable 
man and the counsellor, and the eloquent orator." 
The State, the nation, mourn him. There is a sense 
of loss in his decease as of a presence that could not 
be spared ; as of a pillar of public confidence, a leader 
of public sentiment, withdrawn when most needed. 
So many were accustomed to look to him for guidance, 
to lean upon his judgment, to wait his lead. His word 
was influence ; his name, a spell ; his presence, a host. 
His loss is felt in anticipation of that work to which 
the nation will soon be summoned, of political recon- 
struction and re-adjustment ; a work perilously glori- 
ous, demanding the wisest experience and the soundest 
statesmanship, and in which that conservatism, of 
which he was a recognized representative, will be a 
needed element, — as indeed it always is, to keep in 
safe and healthful check the radical tendencies of our 
national life. And yet why mourn him thus despond- 
ingly % For God takes care of his generations ; and 
who knows what souls of noble mould, and more fully 
attuned to the key-note of the coming day, he may 
have in training for it ? 

There are, also, natural regrets that, for his own 



15 



sake, he should not have hved to see what he 
so longed and labored for, — a restored and peace- 
cemented Union. But he saw the rosy streaks that 
foretell the dawn. The latest watches of the night 
had come. The surging storm had lulled. And who 
will say that death veils to the immortals the scenes 
of their earthly toils ; the progress of those interests, 
dear to Heaven, for which here they lived and 
pleaded] Who will say that the book of human 
fortunes is thenceforth sealed to those desiring eyes? 
I believe it not. 

And, looking from that yonder world to this, how 
must all else seem unimportant, to its newly-risen 
dwellers, in their life's record, compared with what 
they did, or sought to do, in fidelity to sacred duty 
and Heaven-committed trusts ! Oh, what a poor and 
empty thing is life, viewed only in its earthly aspects 
and results, — poor and empty even with those Avho 
have won its brightest smile and worn its loftiest 
honors ! What is if? A birth, a welcome, a shout, — 
popularity, station, fame ; a funeral, a eulogy, a 
statue, a name ! What is there, after all, worth 
living for but the approval of conscience, the smile 
of God, the interior and eternal wealth of a loving 
heart and a holy will? Friends, will we not live for 
these more steadfastly and devotedly, in our several 
spheres, — the humblest and narrowest of them great, 
in its opportunities and possibilities? Will we not, 



16 



each, so heed the Great Master's call, " Occupy till I 
come," that we shall hear, at last, — sweeter than 
the million-voiced echo of human praise, — those 
words of gracious approval and unfathomed import, 
" Well done, good and faithful servant ; enter thou 
into the joy of thy Lord " "? 



boston; printed by john wilson and SOX. 



i 

% 

i 


lltcmoriiil oi CEbtoarb (!5bcrctt: 

A 

DISCOURSK 

PREACHED IN 




THE 


FIKST CHURCH, JJORCHESTER, 






Sunday, Jan. 22, 1865. 






By NATHANIEL HALL. 




, 


BOSTON:, 






WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 






245, Washington Strket. 






E B E N K Z E R. C Ij J^ 1? JP, 






308, Washington Street. 






1865. 














ex. <!< 



cjCC^C. 












■<:<<■ c 






^:<c. 






; ' . C'-c<z: <:& vCxl: oc, c: ^■aci'^c ■< 
C!! cc oc:' ■<: c c. c;<r;<SG. ;c: '•mi.x ex 









' c < c 



d <i^ 






di cr 






^ d 






cc<c: v^ v-> 

. CC 



dCCO 



cTc^ •■.cz_<r;; <: (c.g'<^ 



Clt'CC 



c c<: 



•<rc. "^CL, 



^c: 


' c<r 


c 


CCA ". 


■'-'c<:- 


c 


cd-: 


rcxi: 


"Cl 


ccc: 


cc<: 


C: 


cdc 


vcccr 


C 


c<rc; 


<'-Cd 


C 



2.. <2cccr 


















cjc3;>^s<:c; 



< CIS cc C^Ci 



dAcrcj 






.<:<at. 






..*^-1'C«v 



■.<^-^ 









<-<l£l <- 








•^ i. € ■ 


[ 


•^' <^ - ^i:<< o 


<L 


c 


< 


C V ■ ^_ 


T. - ■ 4 


Cl '■ c 




■_>,_' Ct_. C^i^'X.C; 


;-.■ d? 


<? 


■■ -■- <i.:_" », 




.■ '-. CC <Jt.« c C 


'1 <r_ 


c 


_'%*l.:- C. 




''■--* 5K, .<i= CC^ 


<"' 


■fi. 


< <r,' ■<- ■ 


• 


O CX . C<- cC 


. C3 


c 


\t<<'-'<^. 


c" 


V «5C._ • OA^X-fi 


d.: 


•c 


\.(i—C.< 


t' 


ct <^'^ ' C'XrCi' 


dj;" 


»5. 


^^C- cr. 


( 


•-..' CC ;- OdcK 


■ <d<' 


CC. 


'■'*-<- --<tac 


I c 


f-< <3I- dec ctf; 


■ ^iT*' 


a • 


■■«:«iL.,-C'"' ' 


> <; 


CC «. r c 


' <ZS ■ 


« < 


'<C 'Ct ' ■ 


• C 


<<, ■ C' V t 


<z:. 


'C(.C 


*■<:<;■<:*■< 


i 


< cTc c:'."X-. 


<r:' 


c c 


/-.<<"<.'<< , ' 


<: ( 


<X C' c 


■<r< 


■CL< 


^ I f " '' 


c 


*- <rx < .-- 


d;.^' 


•cs.< 


"• «r" ( ' 


<^ 


< <jC. c ^ 




■g-:« 


t, ' < 


c 


•' • «_ <-. V 


^d" <?, ■ 


Cs.< 


'<','■ 


■ c; 


■ -CXI "ts;: <. 


<dr V- ' 


' <rji 


V ' ' 


t. _ 


' cc:;. < : c ^ 


^1' ^-^ 


<C" 




t 


OCI ^ c . 


^■:*< 


d' 


" . tC ^ 


V. 


V. <3C >•' c . 


*^ "^ 


Cl 










C 
C 


c < 


' c 


. V e<_ ' ^ 


<s; "^ 


' < 


^ <i 


' c 


< <3C -. >; 


c;" ^'> 


< 


<z <z 


c. 


CC 


<s:.^ «. 


< 


^r -'tv 


c 


. • ex.. ^ ■ V 


<C- <s 


4 


^^:<- ■ 


.''. r 


c<: <" • 


CC '«-, 




^ <-- 


cr c e. 


.c;i •- ^ 


c 



^ * i. 






c^c: «: 






CC 

ex 


















•CCL 



c <L<: 



c C- 
C t - 

re 

c c 






a c 



C.-.^<- 



c c: 

c c. 



e <c:cs 



d <L, 



^^'^ CC 

Ir: cc ^- ^.> 

*^ >, ' ,d>- c c 
~<CC ^- ^ 

^ |i SI'S 









•^"^^^ *L > <-^ <_ 






CCJ 
c c. 






CC C. 

dC < 

dcc O 

cUc.c d 



4BLd4 






CC ^ 

<r C 

c c < 
c c 
Vc 






^ ^ 



. c;<^::^ 



<i:c?.' 



^*9^ >?- c 



" 'c «C1 






^Vc^: 

?(cc:.: c "^ 









=? <:c • 









^: <^:^ 






<c: «^ 

" •<c -^^ - 
&'« c: 






.f-'o.' c. 

-C^c C 
:2sc c: 

'" c c 
- c c 

_\-<;^ c 

:1<^ C 



CC. «C. 
cs: <c 
CC ■<- 
cS. < 
cc: .'^ 



' --CLC 

<r c <■ 



■ <c^^- CC 



^i|fc^ 






^- >- c *^--d <c -d 






c c <1 ' 



d: <^^^ ^ < 

^ c<ir: <- '-■ ' 

- c_ -<& ' ^ ^ 

• ■^^ !^ 



<:cc, ^ 
ccc d 

<2iC 5- 



<^: c. 

5>< c 



